Never Had I Dreamed
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: -Collection of oneshots based on C.S. Lewis quotations.- Aslan once said, "The dream is ended: this is the morning." In kind, Lewis bestows his final blessings upon the work which taught him true light.


_A/N: _(I'm making this the second chapter, so it's not too rocking for the lighter-hearted.) As was stated in the summary, this is a multi-chapter fic of one-shots based on C.S. Lewis quotations. Therefore, we'll have some far-fetched stuff (like this one) and some gentler stuff. Just to warn you.

**Warning: **This one may be a bit harsh. Sorry.

It is my first Susand-centered _anything_, along with my first stab at a fic taking place after LB, so please be gentle! Be aware: as it's my first Su, she might seem a little OOC. Really, she does to me, too. This is a take on what it could be like if she _did _just give up after everyone died.

This _does _deal with the Christian religion, particularly the dark side, so if anyone is offended, please forgive me. I am a Christian myself and firmly believe in God, Jesus, and all They do. This was purely a (frankly, very interesting) product of inspiration.

The part after the quotation is a look into Susan's initial reaction to her siblings' deaths. Then, the real story starts.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia. C.S. Lewis does, as well as Walden Media and Fox.

* * *

_This chapter was inspired by:_

"The safest road to hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts."

--C.S. Lewis

* * *

She couldn't go on living like nothing had happened, like the people she loved the most in the world were not gone.

She did for them in death what she couldn't in life: the day her siblings died, Susan gave up her life of frivolity.

The day after, she saw herself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, there was not a trace of make-up to be found on her face. Her once porcelain skin had somehow retained its natural color through the years' layers of unnecessary beauty products, her beautiful, blue eyes and full, pink lips no longer overshadowed by gobs of cosmetics.

She screamed.

* * *

After her family left, everything was quiet, easy. Nothing was harsh or scary; rather, all was soft, light.

But, in reality, that was where it all fell.

Everything was _wrong_!

Somewhere inside her, Susan knew that…she _did_… She simply didn't trust that she was strong enough to return to being the Gentle Queen of Narnia when she hadn't known her for years. Her heart was so well guarded by now, even against her, that she could find no way of fulfilling her grandest desire without destroying herself in the process.

Such was the irony in play.

It was always flighty, this idea of setting herself free. Besides, she knew all too well why she couldn't go through with it. It was the same reason she'd decided to shut herself off in the first place.

Narnia had been her home; it still was, in her heart of hearts. She had loved it, cared for it, nurtured its subjects with her entire being, and it had spit her back out like a piece of stale bread when it was done with her. Granted, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy had been given the same sentence, but unlike her, they had stayed true to their country and to the Lion.

She knew she had been weak. The memories had been too painful, had haunted her every moment.

Her siblings, beautiful as they were, had watched her fall. She had chosen to live in England, to go to parties and to cloak herself in make-up and dresses.

She had chosen to hide.

Reigning with her for fifteen years had given her siblings the power to read her as no other could, and they had been able to see through her. Though, as she had continued to fade into the black, that had proven to be increasingly more difficult.

They had understood her, to some extent. When the fated words had left the Lion's lips all those years ago, they had felt the same, gut wrenching pain. Instead of zoning in on the hurt, however, they had focused on the potential joy that finding Aslan in their world would undoubtedly bring. They had concentrated on the light, on the radiant beauty that was the promise of being in His Country one day.

They had rejoiced.

She had cowered.

They had missed her, gone to her and pleaded with her to come back, to join them in their merrymaking and believe again. So many times had they tried…

After a while, they had had no energy left. By order of birth, they had looked upon her with glassy eyes and pale faces, broken expressions filled with unimaginable pain.

She remembered it clearly. That was the day they'd given up on her.

They had continued to love her--and she prayed they still did, wherever they were--but she had known them just as well as they had her. She knew they hadn't been able to stand the ache of one of their own caving in on herself, to bear the sting of their own failure to save her.

She knew they were in a better place now. She hoped they were happy, as well as the Professor, Polly, Eustace, Jill, and her parents. How surprised the last two would be to see a Talking Lion, not to mention three of their children in their true, royal lights.

Sometimes, she dreamed of it. It was always gone and unremembered by morning.

* * *

She fell into a rut, formulated a routine for herself. She led a life, a normal one, but she was blank to the world. She could hear and see nothing, sense blurred shapes and whirred sounds, but nothing was defined.

She was real, she was fake; she was a phantom, dancing on the line between the living and the dead. She could not understand where she was heading; she knew no direction, no color, no light, no darkness.

She noticed, after a time, that the path she was taking through life was one she didn't recognize, but somehow knew. It consisted solely of a careful decline; there were no sudden dips or stray pebbles over which she could trip, and the pace she chose was slow and unchanging. Its gently packed, dust-emitting dirt was sanctuary to her bare feet, which were bleeding from having walked the other, more unpredictable trail across the way.

She would not return to that jagged road. It tormented her, was too tumultuous and treacherous for her, and she couldn't take it.

She never wondered where the path led; she only knew she liked its delicate ground, its temperate powder.

She would stay here, then; she would march until she fell.

She did not mind it when the years began to pass. Like cars' headlights on busy streets, they flew and left her faster than she could register.

From twenty-one to eighty-seven, she never diverted from her road. It was her safe haven, the one place in all the world where everything came easily, where all fled with just as much consideration.

So, there was nothing she could do when, finally, it came to an end.

Just as she had predicted and wished, her eyes grew wide as her perfect world was marred abruptly by pain. Her knees buckled as her throat closed and her lungs collapsed; she lay on her stomach as the other organs went along with them, and her heart, working in overdrive in hopes of reviving the body, gave out. Before all went black, the memories she had worked so hard to repress rose to cloud her mind's eye for the final time, the first in sixty-six years.

Susan Pevensie, at the broken, delusional age of eighty-seven, died on her beloved road.

* * *

She awoke to find herself a spirit, aged twenty-one again. On her feet, she was happy to stare down at her road with the knowledge that she could traverse it with as much ease as she once had.

As if someone had spoken words into her ear, it occurred to her suddenly and without reason that this could be the Devil's Road.

She glanced upward and glared. If anything, the other path should have gone by such a name. It was the one that had caused her so much pain. It was the one that had thrown her life into turmoil by taking her siblings away from her.

There was a tunnel ahead now, dark and mysterious as crooked rocks formed its mouth. Yet, she entered and continued on, knowing it was a branch of her life's one comfort.

The earth inside was softer this time, almost like pure silt to her healed feet, and she grinned. The light was veraciously dim, but somehow, she knew the way. She walked for what seemed like forever, but she bided her time, concentrating on the palpitating feeling in her chest.

Was it a warning of some kind? Should she be listening more closely? A voice whispered unintelligibly from somewhere all around her, and she saw that doing so would force from her the peaceful haze her road had bestowed upon her in her living years.

In the shadows of the cave, there was a sudden hiss. Susan halted for a moment, a sprig of fear sprouting in her breast, but she traveled her new, blackened road without reserve.

What this one's end would bring was still a mystery, but Susan was soothed by the padded sound her feet made as they connected with the insubstantial soil.

At last, she came to a massive gate, colored black and ominous as nothing could be seen beyond it. Standing in front of it was a towering woman, who was lost in appearance to the darkness apart from the glowing, fur trim of her aquamarine dress, white skin, and piercing, ice blue eyes.

She held out a pale, gnarled hand.

Susan stared at it for a time, then gazed into the Witch's triumphant, hungry eyes.

Her face plunged into an expression of sad, calm resignation.

She reached out.

The sorceress met her halfway, showing her flawless, white teeth in a wicked grin.

Susan's gentle hand was irrevocably encased by the embodiment of sin, of evil, of the Road.

The former, styled Queen of Narnia turned to the gate now, and it seemed to open at her bidding.

At her side, Susan was led inward, the gate slamming behind them with a sharp, echoing, distastefully painful clang.

The surviving Pevensie had made her choice in the temporality of Earth.

This was her eternity.

This was her time with the Devil.

* * *

_A/N: _Just so you know, when I said Susan died, I really mean it. She created a routine for herself (one not involving Aslan or Narnia or her siblings, thought she thought of them, as if was too painful), followed it throughout the rest of her life (while traveling her road), and died at eighty-seven years old.

The cave, too, is something from mythology. Just as it is for Susan here, it is the trail to the underworld in the mythological stories of Hades.

The 'temporality' and 'eternity' is more stuff from my Honors English class.

One last thing: I think I made it obvious, but who do you think is being portrayed as the Devil? (If you don't want the answer, don't read the final line of the A/N!)

Again, I seriously don't mean to sideswipe anyone! This merely came to me.

The answer is: Jadis! Since she is pretty much portrayed as the Devil in the series, I figured it would fit and work well here.

Thanks for reading! More coming A.S.A.P.!


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